But It Was A Beautiful Lie
by Monroe Kay
Summary: How can you go on living when one that you loved is dead, and the other is living as if they are dead. Being numb isn't an option anymore.  After Freddie's death, how Cook and Effy dealt, or didn't deal.


He held her, but she was limp. Not her body, but her soul. Her spirit, her life, her effy-ness was gone. They weren't together for the right reasons anymore.

Well fuck, I guess there never were any right reasons. But the passion, and the fucking, and the fire between them seemed like a damn good reason to fight like hell for her. But now the passion is gone, the fucking if mediocre, something to pass the time and because they feel like they should. He'll still fight with her, fight until the day he dies, or she does.

But now there was something else in there. He had to fight for her, he had to not just for her, not for himself, but for Freds too.

_He was the one to tell her. He had to be. He spent three days in a holding cell. They didn't quite know what to do with him. Delinquent turned hero, or so it seemed. It took a lot of convincing before they believed he didn't off Freddie and that damn doctor himself. But I guess the DNA tests, or whatever the hell they do proved his story true._

_No one knew what happened. There was nothing about it in the paper yet, accept for a small obituary about Freds, with a smiling photograph, and cause of death uncertain. The newspaper clipping was still buried deep inside Cook's wallet._

_He knew he had to go to her first, soon. Before anyone else did. She needed to hear it from him. But he was so afraid to tell her. She had just gotten out of the hospital again. And he didn't want to be the reason she would go back again._

_He fucked up a lot of people in his life, himself included. But he could never bring himself to fuck her over. From day one, he had her under his thumb, the untamable James Cook._

They didn't do much anymore. He got a job as a bartender; part of his parole was to have a job. She sat around a lot, watched soap operas. He still loved her, even if she didn't have that spark anymore. It was his job to take care of her. He made her dinner every night, when he got home from work. He bought her nice things. He usually just got a small smile and a whispered thank you. That devilish smile she use to have was now gone. Her smile was empty.

He knew that she didn't love him the way she used to, if she even loved him at all. She wasn't strong anymore, she needed someone to take care of her. She has dealt with so much damn pain in her life. He just wanted to take it all away.

She was with him because he could take care of her. Because he loved her, supported her, kissed her tears away, and told her it was okay even when it wasn't.

_He hadn't quite processed what happened himself. His best friend was dead. And he never got to really fix things. He never got to say sorry for stealing his girl over and over again. Sorry for acting like a prick. But at least Freds knew, that Cook revenged him. If he was good for anything, it was that. He hope where ever the fuck Fred's was, that he saw it fitting._

_He kept trying to subdue the pain inside of him. He wanted to throw something, break something, break someone. Yes, he had killed the fucker that offed his best friend. But that didn't quench the anger inside of him, it didn't take back what had happened. No amount of violence, drugs, or alcohol could ever make what happened go away. And he knew, nothing would ever be okay again._

_And there he was, standing in front of that all too familiar house. He took a deep sigh. He wasn't ready for this. For all his strength and fight he had in him, it's all too hard to tell the one you love that the one they love is dead. But still he walked inside._

_She was sitting there at the kitchen table, a half full ashtray and a pack of smokes in front of her._

_"What do you want Cook?" Her eyes were tired. He knew she hadn't slept much since Freds went missing, he hated to think how she would feel soon._

_"We need to talk love" That's all he could think of at the moment, he had no fuckin' clue what to say. Fuck, he wasn't a god damn grief counselor, or anyone remotely responsible for delivering this type of news, but he knew it had to be him._

_"You sound like a fuckin' tosser on one of those over-dramatic doctor shows, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Her words were biting in the circumstance, but he knew she didn't mean the harm that it inflicted. Just the fact that those words hurt, and he let it show on his face was proof that Freds took something with him. Cook wasn't as strong anymore, he wasn't numb anymore. There is only a few people in this world that were capable of making him feel something, and one was dead, and one was right in front of him._

When normal people pictured themselves with the ones they loved, it was candlelight dinners, black and white movies, cuddling on a Saturday night. When he pictured his future with Effy, it was a blur of adventures, different places, and different scenes. Night clubs, and fucking on roof tops. Drugs and sex.

But it wasn't this. It wasn't taking care of a broken girl, when he was half broken inside. She was the only thing keeping him alive. He still loved her, and he would be happy taking care of her. He would be happy anywhere near her.

He came home, and he saw her on the couch. Her hair messy and greasy, in a t-shirt of his. This time a trashy reality show was on. The kind that most girls found amusing, and he even laughed at occasionally. But her look was blank, her eyes unfocused.

"Hey princess" He said as a greeting and she let out a feeble smile.

_He knew the only way to tell her was to straightforward, as he always was, it was the only way he was going to be able to say it. Saying it to her made it more true than anything, even than seeing it._  
><em>"Freddie's dead" he said, his voice monotone.<em>

_Her eyes widened but he noticed disbelief in them.  
><em>

_"Lay off Cook, this is not some kind of joke" she said, her tone harsher than he ever heard it. He tried to interrupt her, but she kept going. "It's really fuckin' lousy of you to make jokes like that at the expense of your friends. Your such a wanker"_

_He tried to go about this calmly, but there was no calm with her. "Listen ef, I joke about a lot of things, but this wouldn't be one of them"_

_"Come off it"_

_"It's true, princess. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw the blood, the fuckin blood" He was get angry now, he couldn't control it, he didn't want to be angry while saying this, but he hadn't really talked about it to anyone but the police. "and I saw that sick fuck doctor, your fuckin' doctor, in his fuckin home was where I found fred's, and I'll tell you love there wasn't much to find. I was almost him, I almost died like him. But I took that prick fuck down with me, so no, I'm not fuckin joking"_

_She had no retort this time. Her facial features sagged and he could tell that it was starting to sink in._

_But like the Effy he knew, she wouldn't give up._

_"Your wrong, your fuckin wrong" She said, her tone deadpan._

_"It's true"_

_"No it's not,!" Her voice raised and she got up off the chair._

He showed her the necklace he bought her, plain and made out of gold. She put it on and tried to make a show of it. He picked up the bottle of vodka next to her and poured her another drink, and went to small dirty kitchen to get himself a glass. She drinks a lot now, more than she used to, but not in the same way. Now she just sits and drinks, and watches her damn tv shows, until she gets drunk enough to sleep. He knows that this is the only way she sleeps without nightmares. When he bought the place, he would wake up to her sobbing. It took him a while to get her to tell him why. Nightmares about everyone dying because of her.

He thinks that's why she stayed alive, over guilt. Because in some way, Fred's death was because of her wish for her own death. So she stayed alive to make sure it wouldn't happen again.

He drank less now. When he drank, all the thoughts he blocked out on a normal day would come back, and it was hard to stop the anger, the blinding rage that always threatened to sink in.

_The chair was knocked backwards and she marched over to._

_"It's not fuckin true, so just stop saying it!" she screamed in his face. Her denial, and sadness, and rage seemed to all sink into him as it came out of her, and for the first time, he let someone he loves see him cry._

_"It's fuckin true, princess, and I wish to fuckin' hell it wasn't"_

_"No, no, no!" she screamed, she picked up a vase from the counter and through it again the wall. "It's not fuckin true!" she punched him, right under the eye. He didn't even flinch. She punched him again, in the shoulder, and again. After that the punches became less feeble and the tears came._

_"It's not fuckin' true, he's here, he's out there, Cook." She was sobbing into him, and he put his arms around her and cried with her. He slumped to the ground, and stopped being strong._  
><em>He listened to her repeat the same words over and over, and wished that what she said was true.<em>

As they curled into bed, he reached over and turned the tv off, and pulled the blanket over her.

"I love you." She said in a half-awake groggy voice.

It wasn't true, but it was a beautiful lie.


End file.
